


predation

by king_edmund



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 08:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15860256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/king_edmund/pseuds/king_edmund
Summary: ahsoka catches a glimpse of something, and briefly loses her whole goddamn mind.(the jedi may be vast, luminous beings, but they still inhabit terrible, feral bodies)





	predation

Two semi-circles of silky, pink scar tissue sit long-healed, just above his heart. Ahsoka runs her tongue over her teeth as she studies the mark, the top line broken by puncture scars--from wide set canines, Ahsoka knows, just like hers. He's talking, the both of them are, but she can't hear anything over the furious rushing in her ears, the sudden tide of fury-betrayal-mine that threatens to drown her. Obi-Wan pulls on a dry undershirt, covering up the scar, and the spell breaks, Ahsoka fighting to draw even breaths. She stands, finishes tying her boots, and flees the room.  
Obi-Wan watches her go, a slight frown creasing his brow. "Does she seem--"  
"Pissed?" Anakin rolls his eyes, belting down his tunic. "Only all the time."  
"Teenagers," Obi-Wan says, knowingly, and Anakin snorts a laugh.

Ahsoka tosses and turns in her bed, finally back at the Temple after months away on the Rim. She can see the mark every time she closes her eyes, and the sight of it riles her, sets her heart pounding, leaves her flushed and angry.   
Her mind races, coherent thought left aside in favor of instinct, a thumping beat of who-why-thief-mine-who against the inside of her shields.

Anakin watches in astonishment as his Padawan snarls--actually snarls, like something feral--at Master Shaak Ti, for the apparent crime of 'walking too close.' Master Ti looks down at Ahsoka and growls back, a sound that sets Anakin back on his heels, ready to run. Ahsoka bares her teeth at the Master, the Force furious, territorial between them. He grabs for Ahsoka's arm, tries to pull her back, but she snaps at him, and Anakin's been bitten enough times by enough people--enough times by her, even--that he knows not to try again, and instead grabs her by the hood of her robe.   
"What the fuck?" he hisses at her, once he's dragged her bodily into their quarters.  
Ahsoka glares at him, having mostly come to her senses but still with a nasty, jagged edge to her in the Force. "You wouldn't understand," she spits, and storms into her room, slamming the door.

"Master Shaak Ti," Anakin says, bowing deeply, apologetically. "I must beg your pardon for Ahsoka's behavior earlier." He is erring on the side of much-too-formal, despite Master Ti's friendly presence throughout his youth.   
To his surprise, she grins, showing all of her very sharp teeth. "She was within her rights," Ti says. "Your Ahsoka has grown into a fine young woman."  
Anakin hesitates, but knows better than to look a gift bantha in the mouth. He bows again, and retreats quickly.

Anakin lets himself into Ahsoka's room, feeling her restless sleep in the Force. He sits on the bed, runs a hand over her forehead; her eyes drift open at the touch. She scowls, but doesn't move away.   
"You can talk to me, Snips," Anakin says quietly. "Whatever it is."  
Ahsoka just scowls further, and turns over, pulling the blankets over her head.

She wakes again, much later, to the moonslight bright through her window. The emptiness of the room seems vast, as it so often does to her, used to being crowded into bunks or the creche or her family's tent. Ahsoka stands, follows the Force into her Master's room. Anakin is like her, a light, fretful sleeper, and he wakes as she climbs into his bed. He wraps an arm around her, pulls her close, and they both drift easier back into sleep.

Ahsoka isn't awake, really, but she burrows into the warmth at her side, tucks close against it. She buries her face against Anakin's ribs, his metal hand curled against the back of her neck. He's awake, reading through the night's reports, updates from the council and the fleet, but Ahsoka pushes back against the feel of his active mind, tries to quiet it.  
"Hey," he protests, shaking her lightly by the neck. "Don't do that."  
Ahsoka huffs a sigh into his side, and he laughs, softly. He smells so good to her half-awake senses, like safe-home-belong-comfort, and she mouths along his skin, salty with sleep-sweat.   
Anakin pulls her away from him, gentle, shakes her lightly again. "I'm not breakfast," he says, still scrolling through his stack of flimsiplasts. He spares a look at her, and she's scowling again, and before he can react she's reached out and knocked the 'plasts out of his lap and onto the floor.   
They stare at each other, and suddenly Anakin has her pinned to the bed, his prosthetic hand flat against her chest. She goes still, pliant, and after a moment he lets her go, getting up to retrieve his work. He's crouched down, fishing a few 'plasts out from under the bed, when he feels her hand on his shoulder, her contrition in the Force.   
Ever forgiving of her, Anakin turns to her, sits back on the bed. Ahsoka buries her head against his chest, one of her montrals knocking his chin. "I thought he was ours," she says, muffled against his bare skin, and Anakin frowns, pulls her back by a montral, looks her in the face. There's only one person she could mean, but he still can't make sense of her complaint.   
"What makes you think Obi-Wan isn't ours?" he asks, and a little part of him rankles at the thought.   
Ahsoka presses her hand to his chest, just above his heart. She digs her nails in, not enough to break the skin but still sharp. "She marked him," Ahsoka whines, indignation and confusion rolling off her. "I saw her teeth in him," she says, miserable. "Haven't you?"  
Anakin thinks back. Obi-Wan has always had enough scars across his skin that their individual origins hadn't ever seemed important. "The bite?"  
Ahsoka nods, her grip over his heart not lessening. It takes a few moments for Anakin to put the pieces together, and when he does, it's an effort not to laugh. "You think Master Ti has a claim on Obi-Wan?"  
"Doesn't she?"   
Anakin grips Ahsoka by the chin, disturbed by the total despair in her tone. "No," he says, forcing her to look him in the eye. "He is ours."

Anakin considers speaking to Obi-Wan, or at least giving him fair warning, but then he remembers the four or five specific, petty grudges he's carrying and decides to let Ahsoka handle the situation.

Obi-Wan looks up before his door even opens, Ahsoka's presence sweeping towards him like wildfire in prarie grass. He expects her to be taller, or meaner, or something more, when she walks in, something to match the wild feeling of her in the Force, but she is still his same Ahsoka, still young and deceptively fragile-looking.   
"You're not hers," she snarls, stalking towards him, and Obi-Wan is vastly underprepared for whatever conversation they're about to have. He senses a faint righteous amusement from Anakin, nowhere close, and marks it down in their ledger.   
"I'm not whose, my dear?" Obi-Wan is a Jedi master of considerable strength and import. He is not intimidated by his padawan's padawan. He tells himself this with staggering insincerity, as Ahsoka stands before him, as she places a hand above his heart, as runs her fingers along the worn linen of his shirt.  
"You're ours," she says, ignoring his question. "Mine."   
He notes with some surprise that she's tracing a scar on his chest she can't see, a scar from--  
"Ah." he says, and puts his hand over hers. "No," Obi-Wan says, measured, serious, "you are right. I am not hers."   
Ahsoka grins, sharp and satisfied, and Obi-Wan is not served well by his precognition because without any higher warning, she slices her claws through his shirt and his skin, deep, painful cuts, sure to scar. Her wide blue eyes are wild as she climbs into his lap, her palm pressing firm against the blood now flowing down his chest.   
Obi-Wan remembers, belatedly, that the Togruta are predators. He never seems to remember this before blood is drawn, as he is, by all accounts, a very stupid man. He gasps, hands flexing on Ahsoka's thin waist, as she sinks her teeth into the tense juncture of his shoulder and neck. She laps at the blood she draws, mouths softly at the broken skin before biting down again. Ours, she murmurs, the wildfire of her mind surrounding him, mine.  
The fury within her abates only slightly as she marks him, as she mouths up his neck to kiss him bloodily, as she digs her claws into the back of his skull. He is solid beneath her, unflinching, and she growls against his lips, pulling at his hair. She could eat him alive and raw and he wouldn't complain, wouldn't fight. The thought sends shivers down her spine, cools the fever that has been burning her up for days.   
Obi-Wan is rubbing absent, soothing cricles into her back, and Ahsoka allows herself to be tamed by it, relaxing into his touch. She runs her fingers over his ruined neck, flesh torn and ragged and bloody, and she hums her satisfaction against his jaw.

Anakin falls into the armchair opposite Obi-Wan and his padawan, Ahsoka dead asleep in Obi-Wan's lap. She's a sight to behold, red human blood staining her face and her hands and her lekku, and something like pride sings within Anakin's chest.  
"She is much like you," Obi-Wan says quietly, and Anakin can feel his worry-regret-love held tight against his heart.   
"I've never bitten you," he replies, trying for levity, and Obi-Wan fixes him with a glare so fierce Anakin immediately, viscerally remembers the three different times he definitely did bite his extremely long-suffering Master. "I never bit you that bad," he tries again, and Obi-Wan huffs a laugh, shaking his head.  
"We'll make Jedi of you yet," he says, soft, fond, and Anakin shrugs, looks out into the Coruscant skyline, gleaming in the falling dusk.   
"You can try," Anakin says, and he senses an immediate, breathtaking weariness from Obi-Wan. "You did pick the feral ones," he says, dry. "You have only yourself to blame."  
Obi-Wan wants to protest, wants to remind Anakin that neither of them was his choice, but the Force hisses at him, and he merely smiles at his grown padawan, golden and glowing in the sunset. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

**Author's Note:**

> anyone else have that problem where you spend like, two seconds thinking about ahsoka tano and then all of a sudden you're in a prince costume fully belting out i would die 4 u?


End file.
